Invoked Read online

  ‘I didn’t realise …’

  He touched her lips with a ghostly finger. ‘Shh … it’s all right.’ He studied her face. ‘I love the shape of your eyes and the cute freckles on your nose.’ He kissed the tip of it softly. The touch was like electricity.

  ‘Earl … I …’ She narrowed her gaze, trying to order her thoughts. All she had to do was reach out to him. He was open to her.

  The need in him called to her heart. Softly, he caressed her head, combing his fingers through her hair, his thumb brushing gently on her jaw. She closed her eyes, imagining him kissing her, nuzzling her everywhere.

  Her eyes snapped open. She looked down and she was naked. She gaped. ‘What the …?’

  He had read her thoughts, responded to her need.

  His hand around her waist drew her forward. ‘You are naked in your bedroom. I’ve seen your gorgeous body. It’s been tempting me all this time.’

  ‘Oh, it’s a bit confronting, you know. I haven’t seen a conjuring like this since I was little. Gregor conjured a circus for the coven.’

  ‘Gregor?’

  ‘My grandfather, Gregor Royston.’

  He frowned slightly and smoothed his hand down her head. ‘Again I apologise.’

  She smiled at his contriteness. ‘It’s fine, really …’ She wanted to say more but was caught by the glow in his eyes and the way it stirred her.

  ‘I know how to pleasure you.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes, if you’ll let me.’

  His head lowered and some fit of abandon made her lift her mouth to his. And the kiss, she dived into it. Like a pool of warm water, it surrounded her. His mouth demanded and she submitted, then the tide turned and she took the lead, and he let her sink into him. On and on the kiss went. She forgot to breathe until a last, like a wave leaving seaweed on the shore, she landed, clinging to him, her breath coming in big gulps.

  Wow. That was some kiss.

  Through the kiss she could taste his loneliness, years and years of it, and it tapped into her own. The ache for intimacy, the need to be desired, the joining of spirit and flesh. I’m so there.

  They continued kissing, wrapped in each other’s arms, and talking quietly. She lay against Earl’s chest, so comfortable in his embrace that she knew she belonged there.

  ‘So, Bethanea Royston, may I make love to you?’ His dark eyes were soft embers.

  Goddess yes!

  I cannot mate with you fully, but I can give you fulfilment.

  Oh please …

  And the conjuring vanished and she was back in her room, naked on her bed, her legs hanging over the edge where she’d landed previously. A moment of dislocation followed as she adjusted to the change of scene. Earl’s conjuring had been absorbing and realistic.

  Awakened to his presence when his head dipped her to breasts, Nea groaned. He said he could not penetrate her, but he was able to bring pressure to bear so his touch seemed real. When his lips closed on her nipple, it was like a real mouth. Closing her eyes, she gloried in the tug and pull as he teased her flesh. He drew down on her nipple, sucking it into his throat. The sensation was glorious. Arching her back, she groaned as her breasts ached and stung.

  Deep within her abdomen a burning tingle grew, making her vulva moisten and then throb. The sensation of drawing down as he drank from her was seriously turning her on. Desire uncoiled within her, sending her skin tingling, snaking along her body so that she whimpered. He pressed her hands against the bed, and that restraint upped her arousal further.

  His hands massaged her breasts, squeezing the flesh so more imaginary milk would flow. The more he suckled, the greater the pressure, and she writhed and moaned, crying out when caught between pain and arousal. Still, he did not let up. Never had her breasts been teased into so much pleasure.

  The desire to stroke his head grew, but her hands were pinned. She could not touch him, nor rake her nails down his back, nor pull his hair nor caress his shoulders. She bit back a moan. The thought of being restrained unleashed her passion.

  She thrust up her hips, demanding that he suckle her there. Her clitoris throbbed as she moved. She wanted to stroke herself, let the pleasure wash over her, but she couldn’t move her hands. She thrust upward, demanding the stroke of mouth or tongue or finger or cock.

  The pressure on her nipples released and she let out a long sigh. She was regretful that the excruciatingly erotic sensation had stopped, yet her nipples were free of pain and puckered in the night air. Then, light touches brushed against her labia, and possessed of an eager hunger, she opened her legs wider and thrust up, begging to be brought to climax. Her body stilled, waiting for the next teasing lick between her moist folds. It came long and lush, making her cry out. A firm pressure, not quite a tongue, not quite a mouth.

  Her body shuddered, her breath caught, and sweat broke out on her lower back, under her arms and across her forehead. The anticipation made her tremble. What would he do next?

  Then he latched on, sucking gently on the nub of her sex. It was excruciatingly delightful. Whimpers and moans came fast and hard. The desire to beg grew like fire in her belly. She clamped down on it. She couldn’t, shouldn’t beg.

  Again, as he teased her flesh, it was like he drank from her, lapping at some invisible milk. His tongue grew firmer, his lips more demanding. Thrusting in and out, he fucked her with his mouth. Just that thought had her shouting. Thank the Goddess Gregor is out cold.

  Her hips rose up and down in sync with his rhythm. Her cries were broken sounds, gasps when she came close and then lowering to guttural grunts when he eased off. She was being played, being driven to extremes, being explored, tested, ridden.

  Fuck me, she wanted to say. Fuck me hard. But even with her phantom lover, the words were hard to say.

  He brought her so close, she almost came, and then he stopped. Tears wet her face and then she sobbed like a bereft child. Why had he stopped? Don’t stop, please.

  Turn over.

  Nea rolled over, her butt exposed to the night air, assisted into position by a ghost hand. She had to remember that he’d said he couldn’t penetrate her. What was he doing? He had stopped, and she’d been so close to climax.

  Then there was pressure there, parting her butt cheeks. His vibration changed; it thrilled rather than soothed. Then the tongue was back, putting pressure where she’d never experienced it before. It was alien. It was strange.

  Her breath caught, uncertain. The pressure continued, bathing her like a firm tongue but not. It was amazing. He pleasured her, positioning her so that her hips were cocked at an angle, as if she were begging to be licked like that, as if she liked the pressure of his tongue as she opened to him as she never had to anyone before.

  Tiredness swept over her, her energy depleted, yet she wanted to climax, wanted it desperately. She wanted what he’d promised. Pleasure.

  Earl drank from her, lapping her, moistening her. She wanted to come so badly. She wanted the release he could give her. Her arse thrust higher and in her mind, she begged. ‘Take me. Take me. Complete me. Please.’

  She spread herself wider, responding to his unspoken command, and she was crying now, begging as she’d never imagined she ever would or could. There was pressure there, like a finger. She relaxed, letting herself open as it slid inside her. Then another point of pressure. It joined the other, opening her. She thought he couldn’t penetrate her but he was. He pumped into her with his digits, mimicking a fucking motion.

  Her mind knew elation. He drew shudders from her body and cries from her lips. He was touching the core of her, wringing the pleasure from her.

  Her legs shook from the ecstasy. Another finger joined the others. She was stretched wide. It was strange, and it was seriously turning her on. Her legs were spread, her arse in the air being pumped by his fingers. Then his other hand went for her clitoris, and she shrieked. He stroked and pumped simultaneously. Her legs could barely hold her in position.

  Her hands clawed the sh
eets as she yelled with triumph when the orgasm hit and then cried out on and on as he played her, his fingers pumping one end and then the other, slowly stroking until at last, she collapsed face-first into the pillows. It was the best sex she’d ever had. The best fuck.

  Tiredness enveloped her. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think her thanks when an exhausted sleep swallowed her whole.

  ***

  Earl stood on the pier, his essence tingling as it absorbed the energy that had bled from Nea like honey from honeycomb. The more he’d suckled, the more she’d given, filling him up, making him feel like he was going to explode. His substance was growing stronger and that delighted him. He longed for a real life, real flesh. And after a life of darkness and emptiness, he longed for real love, and finally understood that such a thing was possible.

  Nea was delightful—so giving, so sensual, so willing to surrender to the moment. He’d pushed her beyond her norm. He was proud of that. He’d given her something no one else had. He wanted to give her so much more. Looking at the substance of his hand, he knew he could not.

  He wasn’t quite alive. Not flesh. Not the flesh she needed and wanted. At best, he could be the phantom that visited her in the night to pleasure and seduce her. If she took a mate, he’d have to watch, only sneaking in to pleasure her when her mate was absent from her bed. He frowned. If Nea was his he’d never be absent from her bed. He’d never let some phantom lover pleasure her.

  Frustrated, he turned away. He had suffered for his crimes, paid a price, and he didn’t want to continue to do so. Was being with Nea the ultimate punishment, showing him what he could have but was denied? All because of his mistake. All because of his weakness. All because of betrayal.

  The strands of morning pierced the horizon. He had to take shelter. The ruin was the last place he wanted to go, but it was where he was safe. It was there he could hide himself in shadows and despair. It was there he could think of her and absorb the energy she’d so sweetly gifted him. He hated to leave her alone. Maybe soon he wouldn’t have to.

  Maybe he would fuck her for real one day and catch those cries of hers in his mouth, sharing them with no one, not even the night air. He frowned though, remembering how the energy had poured out of her into him. He was a vacuum, a suck-space that drew everything in, an instinctive hunger he couldn’t control.

  With a glance at her window, he shook with realisation. He’d fed from her. He hadn’t meant to. He’d only wanted to dally, to tease, to see how far he could take her but her energy had been so sweet, so juicy that once he’d suckled her teat and tasted her he hadn’t been able to stop. He’d had to draw more of her in, suck her down into the fabric of himself. The way she’d responded had egged him on. Her moans, her whimpers, and her small sounds of ecstasy had made him dive in. How he wished he could brush real fingers across her skin, that his real mouth could lap her essence and that his real fingers could probe her. As it was his phantom fingers had done quite well, swollen as they were with her ripe energy, her exquisite life force.

  Yet, he hoped he had not harmed her, for that was the last thing on his mind. She had smiled on him in a dark place. Her warm spirit had stirred him from slumber. He didn’t wish to repay that kindness with injury. To injure her was to harm himself.

  He was remorseful; he’d not meant to take it so far. Licking her anus had had him quivering with delight. Energy had poured out of her the more he’d opened her up. Leaving her on the verge of orgasm had backed up the energy inside her and it had been craving for a way out, for release.

  Her surrender had been extraordinary. What would it be like to fuck her with a real flesh cock, to feel the slide of her against his skin, the squeeze of her muscles against his erection? How could it be any more extraordinary than what had transpired that night? But he knew it could and would be. There was so much promise in Nea. Bethanea.

  A sense of longing demanded that he stay, and then his gaze slid to the east where the sun was making its mark. He was so full of Bethanea he was fit to burst. Taking time was necessary to adjust to this new level of energy. He’d leave her now, but he’d be back. To watch and guard and protect. She was his now.

  Before he left, he detected something in the garden around the house, a sinister thread of threat, kept at bay by a ward. He sniffed the air, tasted it on his tongue. He’d have to stay close. There was danger here. He couldn’t tell if it was a specific threat for Nea, but something was there, woven into the fabric of the air.

  Chapter Five

  The sunlight blinded her painfully when Nea awoke the next morning. Screwing her eyelids tight, it took her a few goes before she could open them. The brightness seemed to burn into her brain.

  She was so tired, she could hardly move her head. She tried to prop herself up on her elbows but they wouldn’t obey her commands. Turning her head towards her clock, she groaned. The clock read ten a.m. She blinked. It still read ten a.m. That wasn’t possible. She never slept late.

  On trying to roll over, she found that she couldn’t. She was as weak as a tepid cup of chamomile tea. She tried again and managed to flop a leg over the side of the bed. That was all she could do. Allowing herself to roll onto her back, she stared at the ceiling wondering what the hell had happened.

  With intense concentration, she managed to send a weak hail to Gregor, wondering if she should bother him at all in his condition, but then again, he might wonder where she was and what was wrong. She was normally up and about cleaning, tidying, cooking—whatever by now. Weakly, she groped for the sheets to hide her nakedness and after a few attempts, dragged the thin cotton material over herself.

  Gregor took his time responding, and she wondered if she’d lost the ability to hail. In bed, you?

  He came through loud and clear, and Nea let out a sigh of relief and blinked back a tear or two. Me too. Sorry.

  You okay? She could almost see the furrows between his eyebrows as he frowned.

  Nea resisted the urge to weep and feel sorry for herself. Yes, I’m fine. Didn’t sleep well so I’m laying in.

  Perhaps it was stupid to lie, but he sounded so out of form himself that she couldn’t tell him that she was so weak she was frightened. She was ashamed, too, because she had a feeling that she was the cause of her own weakness, and she didn’t really want to explore the how of it. It wasn’t as if she would willingly confess to letting some undead warlock she’d accidentally awakened pleasure her sexually during the night.

  Her cheeks burned when she recollected how he had licked her, probed her. Her muscles clenched at the thought of it. It had been the most amazing sex she’d had in her life. They’d done things she’d not even dreamt about. While she was weakened so that she felt near to death, there had been no malice involved. She was certain of that. The reading from him during the night had opened him up like a book to her—his desire, his sorrow and regret, and his honest feelings of love. He really did consider that in her he had found his match. Nea groaned at the ceiling. Why did fate have to be so cruel? There could be no future for them, but she’d do it again, even feeling as she did now.

  ***

  In the early evening, Gregor laboriously climbed the stairs and came into her room. Nea hadn’t moved from the bed. She’d need help to get to the toilet so she’d held on, hoping her strength would return, but it hadn’t so far.

  Gregor sat on the edge of her bed, his cheeks sagging with fatigue. He looked twenty years older than when she’d last seen him. ‘Nea?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied weakly.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said faintly, her head lolling on the pillow.

  Gregor reached out and touched her head. There was a tingle when his talent seeped into her. He pulled back suddenly. ‘What have you done?’

  She blinked at him. A tear leaked from her eye to dampen the pillow. ‘I don’t know.’ A sob broke out of her; she was truly sorry for herself.

  ‘Hush now. Don’t cry. You are nearly empty of ene
rgy, barely a thread left.’

  Her eyes widened and she thought how, but then her face heated. She knew the how.

  ‘You really don’t know?’ He shook his head, raking his hand through his grey-blond hair.

  ‘No.’ Even her voice sounded weak. The tears fell more readily then as she realised the depth of her predicament. She didn’t have enough energy to sob or wipe at her tears; they just sunk into her pillow.

  ‘I’m wrecked myself. I’ve sent for Hilda. We need her help.’

  ‘I need to use the bathroom.’

  Gregor stumbled about, looking for a bedpan. They had a few from when they had nursed her grandmother. Nea did her best not to be embarrassed as Gregor assisted her.

  ‘That’s that,’ he said, and collapsed on the edge of her bed. ‘Hilda’s on her way. I suggest you do whatever she says by way of healing. I don’t want her complaining to me that you’re being stubborn.’

  After the door shut, Nea closed her eyes, too fagged to even try for a cheeky comeback. Gregor was the king of stubborn and she was pretty sure Hilda knew that. The whole coven knew how cantankerous Gregor became if he was impeded in any way.

  If she was too weak to get out of bed, her grandfather was only marginally better off. He’d been sleeping for longer, but as she listened to his slow progress down the stairs, she realised that they were both in very vulnerable positions.

  If Earl hadn’t intended to drain her, how had it happened? The detail of what he’d done to her was very precise in her memory. Her cheeks burned. How was she going to admit to that? She couldn’t even lie and say it had been a dream. That would be wrong. It was a simulated sexual encounter, but not as simulated as she’d thought, given her energy deficit.

  Her tears continued to flow. The memory of her interlude with Earl replayed like moments of real life. Just thinking of what that tongue had done to her and how she’d begged in her mind for more gave her a sinking feeling. It wasn’t that she was a prude, but none of her sexual encounters had taken her so close to the edge. The encounter with Earl had thrown her off the deep end. She trembled at the thought of the blatant and abandoned way she had begged him. The resulting shattering ecstasy that had left her gasping had been the reward for opening herself up. It was hard to regret it, even now as she lay there, helpless.